Campfire
by Lena Ban Obsidian
Summary: Prizefic- Uftaki and Alba were cowinners; rated for language. Serge, Norris and Karsh camp in Fossil Valley for the night.


Campfire  
Lena

Notes: I made a little contest out of my last introspective fic and got a winner the day after I posted it. ^^ Here's for Alba and Uftaki, who won together: Norris/Karsh, any genre. Yay! Freedom! I can do a lot with that :D 

* * *

Serge was a surprisingly good leader. He didn't talk much, he couldn't cook worth beans, and he was a semi-decent fighter, but none who traveled with him regretted it. Perhaps it was his reassuring confidence that, whatever had gone wrong with the world, they would fix it. 

Or maybe it was his naive charm. Whichever a person was more willing to admit. 

Fossil Valley was not, by any means, an ideal place to set up camp. Serge glanced questioningly over his shoulder at his two comrades; the Scotsman sniffed and shoved past him, climbing up the ladder without comment. The Porre officer chewed on his lower lip, shrugged, and followed. They decided, without wasting time speaking, that it would be best to set up camp inside the ancient skull that rested at the top of the chasm. It took little to start a fire, and after traveling together for a month, the three of them were adept at it. 

Serge always took middle watch, so Karsh voted to do it himself this time around. The blue-haired boy was looking rather weary, anyway, so it was only fair. Norris cooked best of the three of them, so he cooked their rations in silence as they huddled in their shelter, listening to the rasp of high-speed winds over the canyon-top. It made ironic sense that the place was as noisy now as it had been so many months before, when the errant Skelly had been frightening the dragoons as they investigated the valley. 

They ate in silence, though it was by no means companionable. Karsh traded sullen glares with Norris across their small fire, while their leader ignored them both and ate his food, a contemplative air about him. When they'd first joined the boy, both men had been slightly suspicious of the sense of undertaking such a mission. They'd had no idea they'd have to be in close contact with each other. 

"What're ye lookin' at?" Karsh grumbled, scowling at the so-called traitor from Porre. 

The blond man allowed one of his lips to curl up in an elegant sneer. "An irritant." 

Serge leveled a look at the both of them that warned of intolerance for such behavior. They looked away from each other, eating in hostile silence, and when the food was gone, they sat looking out of the skull to the clear night sky, watching the stars. Serge took his sweet time about dinner, as he seemed to do with everything, and when he finally finished, he gazed at them measuringly, for a long time. Neither felt comfortable admitting that he was unnerved to the other, but they both got the feeling that he knew something they didn't, and that was disturbing in itself. 

"I'll take first watch, if you're taking second, Karsh," He said in the quiet, world-weary voice that the other two men had grown accustomed to hearing when Serge had had quite enough. Karsh thought it was odd how much the boy's attitude had changed since the first time they'd clashed, on Cape Howl. From downright scared, and exceptionally bratty, the boy had come to a point where he could silence a thirty-year old pirate with a raised eyebrow. (He'd rather enjoyed seeing Fargo shut up by little more than a teenage boy.) 

"Na, lad, y'need yer sleep. Norris an' I can share the burden fer t'night." 

Norris nodded. "You need to rest. You're not looking well." 

An implacable stare, hard, unyielding, dismissed both of their statements as unimportant. "I'm fine. I'll take first watch." So saying, he began to stand, apparently satisfied that they would not further challenge his decision. A puzzled frown flickered over his face; he paused, half to his feet, trembling slightly, and looked to Norris with sudden shock. "You wouldn't--" 

"I did." Norris smiled, almost apologetic. "You need to sleep, Serge. You've been having a hard time. Don't worry, we're capable of handling one night's watch by ourselves." 

Karsh looked from one to the other, then chuckled softly as it dawned on him. "Resourceful indeed," he breathed, soft enough that neither of the others could hear. 

Serge glared balefully at his two companions, pushing himself all the way up and putting a hand out to balance once he was standing. His eyes clouded slowly, lids drooping, and he began to sink back down. "Norris, you bas..." Thump! 

The other two men kindly set up Serge's sleeping bag and moved his sleeping body to it before returning to the fire. Karsh watched the flames intently, satisfied that their leader would be fine until morning. When he awoke, perhaps it would be a different story; as it was, he was far too amused to chide Norris for sneaking a drug into the boy's food. It wasn't a method he would have been willing to employ himself, but it was efficient, at least. 

Norris stood by the great gaping hole in the skull that had once been some fierce monster's eye, staring out over the valley and the fields that were on the slopes below. He looked haggard in starlight, old with fighting, with hurting other people when he didn't want to. It was startling, and Karsh found himself looking back into the fire, feeling as though he was stepping out of a boundary that he knew to be safe. 

Fire had always fascinated him, on some deep primal level. The heat of it on his face was reassuring, a sensation that made him feel feral, feel alive. Dancing tongues flickered over wood, changing pale softwood into dark and smoldering brimstone; light flared in unearthly patterns, wilder, more unstable than a candle. Something gave on the chemical level and the fire shifted, one piece of fuel crumbling as it changed from wood into ash, into smoking gray ash. He sucked in air through his teeth, watched the little embers flare up into the air and fade, becoming no more than flecks of white, falling like snow back down, some landing on his hands, where they were clasped over his legs. 

He sat still, cross-legged, for an indefinite amount of time. He watched the fire, and let his mind wander; it was a practice that had kept him sane through years of insanity, after the Isle of the Damned had stolen his best friend from him and left him uncertain of his own loyalty to his extended family, to the dragoons. There was something very calming about the savagery of fire, something natural to it. It was man's best tool; it allowed man to evolve; to kill; to learn not to kill. 

"Karsh?" 

Startled, he glanced back at Norris, who was now leaning with his back to their makeshift window, elbows propped on the equivalent of windowsill, the picture of indecisive boredom. The earlier effect of worldliness was gone; he just looked like a punk kid from Porre now, as usual. 

"Aye?" 

A slight smile tugged at Norris's lips. "Neither of us is going to bed, is he?" 

Karsh shrugged, looking back at the fire. "I dinnae think so, no." 

"But someone's got to be awake in the morning, and we'll be useless if we don't get any sleep," Norris pointed out reasonably. "So who's going to bed?" 

Tense silence followed, as Karsh refused to look back at the other man, ignoring the gaze he felt on his back. He watched the fire, felt the heat, and slowly lifted his shoulders in another shrug. "I cannae trust a man of Porre. I willnae sleep wi' the knowledge that you are th' only one guardin' us." 

Norris snorted; it was a soft, scoffing sound. "Likewise, I cannot trust you." 

"Then I s'ppose we're pullin' an all-nighter. Sound fair?" 

"No." 

"Tough." 

Karsh glared into the fire. Norris glared at the ground, biting his tongue to keep himself from replying. They'd been civil enough with Serge conscious to defuse them, but with their leader quite thoroughly drugged, there was really no reason to bother. They didn't like each other, and they weren't afraid to admit it. 

The fire crackled loudly; an ember, red-hot, landed on Karsh's unprotected hand and he flicked it off, cursing softly, before putting the wound to his mouth. Blue eyes flickered up briefly to see what was bothering him, and a scowl crossed Norris's face before he looked away again. He was still glad that he'd put Serge under; the hollow look in the other boy's eyes worried him too much to make him acknowledge the continued annoyance that was Karsh. 

Still suckling the little burn on his hand, Karsh allowed himself a raspy little laugh. "So what do we do? Sit here all the bloody night and glower at each other?" He made a rumbling noise of displeasure deep in his throat. "Not exac'ly the way ah like t'spend m'nights." 

Norris, who had angled his body slightly so that he could look out into the night sky, turned his head back only slightly, not wanting to ask but finding himself curious. "Oh? And how would you prefer to spend them?" 

The lavender hair that spilled over Karsh's shoulders moved with fluid grace as he turned, hand still in his mouth, to leer back at the other man. "Why don't y'guess?" 

"With a woman?" 

"Ach, no. Y'underestimate me; I'm wounded, lad, truly I am." 

He turned a little further, genuine surprise on his face. "How many at a time? Don't you have to be awake for those drills before sunset every morning?" 

Karsh answered with a hearty guffaw, dropping his hand and turning to face Norris, head cocked at a slight angle, body stretching out in lanky, lascivious fashion. If the ex-Porre soldier noticed, he gave no indication. His eyes were intent on Karsh's face, curious and cool. "A little slow on the uptake, for a spy." 

"Excuse me?" 

A languid smile took hold of Karsh's lips, an expression that looked entirely too comfortable on the man's face, making him seem young and wild and inviting all at once. All this was wasted on Norris, who was starting to notice the strands of spider's web hair falling across Karsh's lightly tanned face and chest. This strategically placed hair was vaguely stirring, in a manner with which Norris was unfamiliar. 

"It's not women I sleep with, lad." Karsh's mouth moved with fluid grace when he spoke; a strand of pale hair caught on his lower lip. "No, indeed." 

Attempting to joke, failing, perhaps because he was on uncertain footing, Norris responded half-heartedly: "Dragons, then?" 

"Men," Karsh drawled, enjoying Norris's resultant confusion, the way that he would have enjoyed defeating the boy in a battle. "I spend m' nights with men, when ah have the chance." 

Norris just stared, for a long moment, at the dragoon, at the luxuriant way that the other man was now draped over the floor, at the smug certainty in his semi-enemy, semi-ally's eyes. He glanced to the lump of sleeping bag that was all they could see of Serge from here, then back at Karsh, brow lifted in question. 

"Have I bedded _him_?! Oh, great Dragon Gods, no!" Laughter danced in the man's dark eyes, in his voice. "Though I'll admit there's plenty o' folk as would like to, myself included." 

Silent for a long, uneasy moment, Norris turned his gaze back to Serge, and considered the information carefully. He couldn't honestly tell himself that he didn't understand. And perhaps, on some deeper, more base level he had joined the boy's cause for the same reason as Karsh. It wasn't impossible. "I could see why," he temporized. Internally, he debated whether to look back at Karsh again or not, mind circling the admission that Karsh actively sought sexual relations with other men at night. 

The Scotsman rolled on his side and watched the fire, allowing Norris the time necessary to think such things over. It had been a while since he'd added any fuel, so he reached out and snagged a shaggy pine log from the pile they'd made, settling it in the bed of embers and flame and watching it catch flame, the ribbons of yellow and orange flickering bright and dim in rapid succession. 

In turn, Norris watched Karsh, watched the rise and fall of the other man's breathing, and the slow transitions of expression across his face. Karsh was possessed of a deeply masculine beauty, a strong and sometimes haughty face that matched a strong and unyielding body. Years of training, of practice and tenacity, showed in the sleek, lithe muscles that lay beneath the man's bronzed skin. You didn't become a master axe-man by swinging about blindly with a blade; you couldn't afford to, not if you intended to last very long. In a real battle such tactics would have been considered careless. Karsh's fighting was a different story entirely. He worked best when he was angry. He could seem deadly calm and completely in control when he was angry, and that was what made him good enough to be a Deva. 

And a beautiful Deva at that, for all of his little mannerisms and attitudes that could annoy the hell out of an unsuspecting stranger. 

"What makes you do it?" He finally asked out of curiosity, and partially because he felt tense and couldn't place why. Karsh sent a look of questioning over his shoulder that consisted entirely of his dark eyes and one violet eyebrow rising ever so slightly higher than the other. It made him feel stupid. He blushed. "What makes you sleep with other men at night?" 

The answer was little more than a sigh. "What makes me. Hn. Good question." Lying back, looking up at the ceiling to their little makeshift room, the older man considered the question and possible answers, chewing on his lower lip. "It feels good. You feel needed, or wanted. And it's a way to be close to the people you need to trust. It's a way to work off energy; it's a satisfying way to celebrate victory." 

Norris looked innocently puzzled. Karsh didn't notice; he was staring at the chalk-gray roof of the inside of a dinosaur's skull. "Not for love?" 

To this, the dragoon laughed, perhaps a bit too roughly, perhaps a bit too bitterly. It didn't really sound like anything cheerful; the sound was closer to sadness, if Karsh would have admitted it. "No such thing, no such thing." 

"You can't be serious." 

"I bloody well can, and I am." Lip lifting in a slight scowl, he sat, hugging his knees to his chest. The action made him seem much younger, much more vulnerable than he ever did otherwise. "There's comfort, Norris, and there's trust. Outside a' yer family...there isnae anythin' called love." 

The young man from Porre sighed, stepping away from the more or less window and sitting down next to Karsh, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward to prop his chin on his crossed forearms. He stared the other man in the face with his intelligent, curious eyes and watched as Karsh leaned back, cocking his head to the side, bracing himself on his hands, looking displeased, disheveled, and disillusioned. 

When the tension started seeming like it might snap them both in two, he spoke again. "There is someone you love that doesn't love you in return, isn't there?" 

A moment passed when Karsh remained stationary, and in that moment he looked shocked. Hurt. Afraid. Then he lunged forward, grabbing the younger, thinner man by the throat and bringing their faces so close that their noses touched. "Dinnae be a fool, boy. There isnae anyone." 

Softly, Norris answered him with a sad little sympathetic smile, unfazed by the hand squeezing at his jugular. "Miss Riddel?" 

There was a wildness in Karsh's eyes that would have scared any other man, would have sent any other man running if he knew what was good for him. Norris just looked impassively back, still curious, aware that he was on dangerous ground. The squeezing gradually slackened, and Karsh sighed, shaky, looking away, back to the fire. His hand slipped from Norris's neck and fell limply back to his lap, the other still bracing him. 

"Per'aps ye're na such a bad spy after all, eh?" He couldn't manage a laugh or smile. He settled for a brief pause to collect himself. "Aye, there's a lass as I could love, if it were my fate, or any man's but Dario. An' I couldnae hate him for it. 'T weren't fair, but I've no right to hate him for it. So yes." He leveled a look so cold and empty of emotion that it could have withered trees at Norris. The ex-Porre soldier returned it without faltering. "Yes, there is someone I wish I could love. I kinnae. So I dinnae love anyone." 

They stared into each other's eyes. Norris said nothing. Karsh didn't have to. They hated each other, and they were almost proud of it sometimes. 

"It's not worth agonizing over," Norris said in the most even, clean-cut tones. "If she doesn't even know how you feel. If she loved Dario, or loves him now, then you ought to try letting go. It's mentally unhealthy to be that obsessive, especially for a commander in a military organization." 

Dark eyes narrowed. "Obsessive?" 

Matter-of-factly, he answered without flinching. "To the point of being bipolar. In the depressive state patients feel unloved, unlovable, and spend as much time with any possible sexual partner as they can. In the manic state, patients are willing to sleep around for the risk and the sense of danger; patients are also known to have slight delusions of grandeur and cases of paranoia." 

"I am not." 

"No, you're not," he agreed calmly, as if he'd never even suggested the possibility. "But you don't have to agonize over the Lady Riddel and use sex with other people as a comfort for your own insecurity in romantic relations." 

Karsh scowled, petulant. "Insecurity my arse, ye're full of it." 

"You say there is no such thing as love, and you're in love," Norris answered with a slight, disapproving frown. Somehow, it bothered him. Uncertainty flickered in the dark eyes, quickly replaced by the more familiar anger that seemed to spark between them every time they looked at each other. 

"Unrequited love is another matter entirely," he grumbled quietly, glaring off into space, disgust on his face; Norris couldn't be sure if the disgust was for himself or for the other man's problems. He wondered which it was. Perhaps both. "At the least," Karsh continued, voice sounding weary, as though he'd taken himself through this conversation a hundred times previous. "I can pr'tect her for him. I respect th' man and I miss him. I'd do anythin' to honor his memory." Getting slowly to his feet, Karsh sent an unreadable look Norris's way, examining the man, the slight bruise that might become prominent by morning and the sparkle of curious, nosy eyes. 

He left the skull without another word; Norris watched him go. 

Outside, away from the fire, it was cold. Not really chilly, but the difference in temperature was enough to raise goose bumps along his arms and the back of his neck. Dust puffed up at his feet, gravel scrabbling forth with every step he took. The ivory of a dinosaur's spine stuck up in spiky silhouette against the sky; jagged, broken by time. Worn down. Almost forgotten. 

He knew he was about to slip into self-pity and hated himself for it, and stalked across the little plateau to the edge, staring down into the valley. It wasn't very deep, but it yawned like the mouth of an implacable beast. He was tempted to jump in, just to prove that it wasn't very deep. There was also the desire to sneak back and strike at Norris with a green element for vengeance's sake, but that was childish. The thought of knocking the other man unconscious was, however, a pleasant one and he grinned to himself. 

"Your turn," called an amiable voice from behind him. He only glanced over his shoulder at Norris, not bothering to turn. The man made a striking figure, outlined by firelight; he looked like a soldier ought. Karsh often found it difficult to dislike him for his efficiency in his work, though they were enemies in that. In the end it really was the fault of the dragoons, for not realizing how suspicious the new kitchen aide was. 

"What d'ye mean?" He answered finally, attempting to sound bored. 

Norris took a few steps closer, careful respect for Karsh's privacy keeping him a safe distance away. "I've been asking all the questions. It's your turn." He shrugged. What questions did he have to ask? He knew all he needed to know about the other man. Wind stirred across the plateau, howling about them, hissing as it blew in little dust-devil circles and quieting as it sank down into the darkness below. 

"Are ye loyal t' Serge?" 

Sensing, rather than seeing the flinch that his question earned, Karsh hid a smirk in the shadows cast by his own hair. Boots crunched on the gravel as the other man closed the distance between them, and a hesitant hand grabbed his shoulder. 

He allowed Norris to look him in the eyes, and waited for his answer. 

"Karsh...I am loyal to what is right. If that means that the people who sent me here in the first place are no longer my allies...I will stand by it. Serge wants to do what is right, and I want to help him." The earnest, intense expression on the younger man's face was a bit of a surprise. It would have been exaggeration to say he hadn't expected it, but Karsh wasn't sure he'd known he would believe it. 

Reluctantly, he nodded. He could understand the feeling. He knew he wanted to be the good guy here, but he'd been on the wrong side when things had started, and he knew that. Lynx was nobody's friend; he'd taken orders from the demi-human. There was blame to lay on both of them. 

"It's not easy, but..." He sighed. "I believe ye." He gently removed the other man's hand from his shoulder, and fixed him with a stern look. "But ye kinnae tell me ye dinnae want t' bed him, as I know the truth's otherwise." 

Norris scowled faintly, face reddening. He radiated heat. "Karsh! I'll have you know--" 

He leaned down, so close that they were almost touching. "Ye'll have me know _what_?" He asked in a chill, unforgiving voice. "The boy's got somethin' about him and we both know it. Everybody wants it. Dinnae deny it, Norris, or you'll be losin' the respect I just gave ye." 

In a small voice, he tried to do just that, hair covering his face as he ducked his head slightly, embarrassed. "But I'm not...I don't like...men...the way that you do, Karsh..." Smooth-skinned fingers brushed his bangs from his eyes, forcing him to meet Karsh's unwavering gaze, eyes deep obsidian under the stars, intense, heated, primal. 

"Oh no?" Karsh asked, voice no more than a whisper. The distance between them suddenly ceased to exist, and lips met hungry lips. It was hot and desperate; it was chaste and pure. They opened their mouths to each other in mutual yield, and their tongues met like swords clashing on a battlefield. Blood thundered in their ears like gunfire. On the chemical level, something shifted, and they broke apart, dark eyes gazing predatorily down into light. 

Norris didn't move, breath coming slightly out of rhythm, eyes wide. 

After a long moment, Karsh shook himself slightly, and nodded to himself in an absent-minded fashion. He walked back to the skull and disappeared behind the firelight, checking on Serge before he crawled into his own sleeping bag for the night. "Oh," Norris breathed softly into the cool air, almost surprised when it didn't manifest as steam. He felt as though he could breathe fire. He felt as though he ought to be. "No," he agreed softly, turning towards their makeshift camp and trying to decide if he wanted to go back there or not. 

The fire was still burning when they left the next day. Karsh didn't make any effort to stomp it out; Norris was too busy carrying Serge back down to bother. Their leader awoke around noon and heartily chewed them out for their treachery, and didn't calm until they ate lunch. 

They continued out of the valley towards Opassa beach in silence. 

~End


End file.
